


Bed Of Roses

by PoisonedPerfection (EffingEden)



Category: Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2005-09-25
Updated: 2005-11-18
Packaged: 2017-10-13 10:34:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/136345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EffingEden/pseuds/PoisonedPerfection
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daine is lovestruck with Numair, and thinks his feelings are the same. What happens when things don't turn out to be such a bed of roses?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Ice Inside

Daine was happy. Happier than she could ever remember. An autumn fizz kissed the air, energy of a summer thrumming in the People and Daine herself. She realized she was almost falling out of the window, so lost in wonder with the world she was. She laughed at herself, and leaned back into Numairs' – no, their – rooms.  
She shivered with delight at that correction. Only a month ago had the war ended. Only a month had they been together without another war to fight. Only a month Pelinon of Theris told her it would last.

That jerked Daine out of her fluffy cloudland of happiness. She went back, to the celebratory ball, in her mind.

Daine had wanted to get some air, and a stroll sounded good. She found her way to a fountain enclosed by a high hedge, and sat on the rim of it. She relaxed, and listened to the water, and felt the slight spray cool her.

A theatrical sigh nearby disturbed her, and she looked to its source. A blond haired beauty stood in the privet opening, shaking her head.

She wore a deep blue dress, the weather being to hot for gowns and petti-coats. It was a work of art, clingy here, loose there. Her straight honey hair was up in the latest fashion, partially braided with a sunburst twist at the back. Lip colour and eyeshade were obvious, though.

Daine felt like a foreign commoner again, and she squirmed slightly.

Then she heard the sigh of her own delicate pink and black dress as it settled about her. The Queen herself, along with her Ladies, had tamed her curls. They were collected high on her scull, to show her 'swan neck', and then allowed to flow down in a wild cascade, still managing to reach well past her shoulders. Two locks either side of her face has been curled more into smooth ringlets. She had then been dabbed at lightly with brushes. She had said they hardly used any powder; there was no point to it. The Queen smiled as the Ladies giggled. She had told Daine that the powders shouldn't be visible for the best affect. She had been right. Daine had been knocked breathless by herself. The pink actually looked good on her. Not good enough so she liked it, just good enough that she didn't mind. Everyone she had walked past had stared at her in a very disturbing way.

So had Numair.

And she found out that that stare meant she looked very, very edible.

Remembering this, Daine smiled at the Lady, who still wore a small tragic grimace. Seeing Pelinon did not intent to begin talking, or leaving, or moving, for that matter, Daine started the small talk. "It's a colourful ball, don't you thing?"

"It is, as balls in the summer go. Not enough partners, I found." At this she stared at Daine accusingly.

Not realizing what she meant, Daine said, solemnly, "Yes. The loss of knights was high, and those left are either on patrol or in sick beds."

Again, Pelinon sighed with a slight shake of head. "Oh, you poor naïve child. Do you truly believe you're the one? Numair was deprived of other females for several weeks apart from you, in the Divine Realm, am I correct? And he has always had a sense of duty to friends, yes? Then I give your bed of roses a month. Three, tops, if you play blind. You are a stand in for a real woman. You are a mere sixteen-year-old, penniless, orphaned freak, relying on charity and good will to see you through . Good. Are. You?" She took dainty steps towards Daine as she spoke and smiled as she watched Daine pale. "Your only here to leach off those better off than you. Numair probably only ever saw you romantically as his bit of rough. Don't fool yourself. It'll only hurt more in the long run, after he ditches you."

She left with a cruel smirk, Daine in a state of shock.

Numair came looking for her after he had eluded the many waiting dance partners via invisibility spell. She was bitting her lower lip bloody, hugging herself and rocking a little to comfort herself. She didn't notice him till he rapped her in his arms.

She clung to him, feeling retched, afraid of loosing him. She sobbed like a lost child, till she realized, and stopped suddenly. It might scare him away, make him see … a girl.

She was shivering violently now, and Numair, concern creasing his brow. "Magelet? What's wrong?" His voice was low, comforting. It soothed her down, but still she said nothing. "Tell me."

Daine looked into Numairs' eyes, and whispered, "I'm so afraid of loosing you!"

She collapsed again, but he stroked her, calmed her. "Only two things could make me leave you." He felt her grip on his shirt tighten. "If my being close to you somehow endangered you, or you not wanting me." He whispered in her ear, "I will never leave to hurt you, I swear to Mithros, Minos and Shikeeth."

Daine came back to the present. Things had gone beautifully. Why shouldn't they? Numair loved her with a passion as hot as the Carthaki sun in summer. Daine rejoiced each and every day with that fact. Some times, she even danced and sung. Alone, of course.

She did a little skip, now, to where Numair was sitting, reading and pulling his nose. It was a letter that had arrived earlier, before Daine had even woken, and now, at mid-morning, Numair had still not put it down. Each time she looked at him, she seemed to see a new emotion there, puzzlement, confusion, anger, pain, defeat … none positive.

She came up behind him, and wrapped her arms round his neck, and he jerked in surprise. She nuzzled his nape and attempted to read the letter from over his shoulder. He relaxed; automatically responding to her touch, then stiffened up again, folded the letter and put it into a pocket. Not before Daine had seen the words, in a strange, loopy hand and a stranger language, neither Kypirish, Scanran, Gallan, Thak, Tyran, nor any countries round abouts.

"New pen-friend?" Daine asked, lips brushing his lobe, her breath tickling his ear, and she felt him shudder pleasurably.

"Oh, Magelet!" he said, in an exasperated tone. He pushed her away, not roughly, but not gently. That hurt. What had he done that for? She dismissed it, and stomped around, feeling restless.

"Hey, Numair. Wanna go to the Copper Islands today? Then Scanra? Yamani? The Roof?" The new Menagerie had recently been finished, and it was one of the couple's favourite places to go when they were in residence of the palace. They usually took a picnic, and shared with Zeks' tribe, or some other furred friend. Skysong whistled her enthusiasm.

Numair appeared to think about this, and said in a dismissive tone, "Not today."

Daine was taken aback. Numair had only ever said no to her requests once before, then when she had Unicorn Fever, and wanted to see Chaos. It didn't matter what he was doing, he would indulge her, even if it was for just five minuets, even if it meant going at ridiculous times in the middle of the night. Now he didn't have anything to do, he just didn't seem to want to spend time with her. And his tone … He sounded like he was an adult responding to a child's foolish request, like she should have known better than to have asked him.

She felt sick, and took a step back. She looked down, and heard Numair say, "Maybe tomorrow." He said it hurriedly, and low, like a reluctant promise, hoping it wouldn't be heard. This hurt more.

Daine looked through her eyelashes at him. She wanted to be with him. Maybe, "No, it's alright. We can do what you want to do."

He arched her eyebrow at her, and said, "Don't let me stop you from visiting your friends-" Your friends? It had always been our friends! "- I have …" He paused, looking round for inspiration. " … To meet some one."

With that, he stood, got one of his thin coats, and went to the door. As an after thought, he said, "Don't wait up," And left.

Daine looked around, feeling lost, Kitten as confused as she.

That night she would have spent alone, if not for her animals, in a bed made for two. She did stay up, listening to the calls of the hour. Eleven. Twelve. One. Two. Three. Four. She didn't hear the next, as she had fallen asleep.

The next day, she woke late.

The first thing she saw was Numair. He was staring at her face, fierce, protective love shining in his eyes. She smiled sleepily at him.

"What's the matter? Someone spreading rumours about me again?" She raised her knees, and arched her back, stretching. The blanket slid down one foot, and she prodded him with it.

His gaze lost the emotion that was there before, replaced by a hungry, predatory one. Daine wiggled her anticipation, as she recognized the look. He caught her foot, and brushed a long, dark finger up and down it.

This was not what Daine had been expecting. No one had tickled her since she was thirteen, living with her Ma and Granda. She giggled, and tried to free herself. He looked triumphant, and said, "My, you ticklish!"

He worked his way up her body, stroking the sensitive skin under her knee, her kidneys, and finally underneath her arms. She was helpless, unable to move apart from half-hearted efforts to evade his quick fingers. She had tried begging, ordering, and threats. She had bent and curved her body till she was out of ideas, apart from just lying there till Numair thought it was enough. She was almost exhausted with laughing, and thought he should stop soon when he saw she had give up.

When he didn't, she remembered being told by Aly that tickling was a form of torture. She opened her eyes, and looked round franticly. Numair wore a cruel grin. Daine panicked, then, suddenly afraid. She didn't stop to think, she only acted, and turned herself into a wolf.

In that form, she managed to wiggle out of Numairs' grasp. She backed into a corner, fur puffed out, ready to defend her self. Numair pretended not to notice, and said, coolly, "I'm sorry, but I cannot accompany you today. I have to decipher some text. I should be back in time for the Evening meal."

Daine changed her voice box back to a humans', and said, "Are you avoiding me?"

Numair only laughed, and said, indulgents in his tone, "Your so clingy." He left again, without saying Bye. Daine let go of the form, and as she dressed, asked Kitten, "Wanna see Zek?"

That night, Daine tried her best to put right any wrongs that she may have caused him, by kissing him passionately, something she was sure was failsafe. She was right, he responded, slowly at first, then with just as much passion she had for him.

Afterwards, she was drifting off on his chest, when he nudged her off. She went back to her side of the bed, and felt a bitter sting as he turned away from her. She snuggled into his back, but not for long.

"Just – don't." Numair said sharply. She hesitated, and backed away to her side of the bed again. She thought she had made it better, but she had only made it worse.

"Numair?" Daine said, quietly.

She heard him sigh, but he didn't turn back to say, "Give me some time, Daine. Leave me be."

Daine complied, and fell asleep looking at the cold curve of Numairs' shoulder.

Daine woke earlier than Numair. He had turned over to face her as he slept. She felt slightly cold in her belly, like she had sipped water from an ice lake.

She felt strange, like she didn't want to be around when Numair woke. She dressed silently, collected a sleepy Kitten and bow and quiver before leaving quietly.

She decided to ride the feeling off, and went to see if she could lend one of the Crowns' mounts.

Staffan was already up, though the sun hadn't yet risen. The Chief Holster willingly agreed to lend Daine a five year old stallion. Daine liked Outlaw from the start. He was large, at over eighteen hands, and beautiful. His coat was the colour of dark chocolate, and his mane and tail were flaxen, and full of youthful energy. Outlaw accepted Daines authority with not much of a struggle, recognizing her for a herd-master.

She mounted with a little difficulty, but with Staffans' help, she made it up. Kitten chortled with mirth till Staffan tossed her up onto the pommel.

Daine promised to take care, and left at a walk to warm up Outlaws' muscles, into the Royal Forest. She trotted, then cantered through dells and glades, enjoying the freedom of it all. Kitten stood as far up the horses neck as she could, hooking claws into his mane, and spread her wings. She chirruped her joy at flying.

She refused to think of Numair, freezing any thoughts and feelings with the small icicle inside.

By the time Daine returned to the Palace, the sky was turning the peach of sunset, Outlaw saying that he had enjoyed himself to no end, and could they do it again tomorrow?

Daine smiled, overjoyed to be appreciated. She had more than enough to buy Outlaw, what with all the Purses the Crown had given her for her services in the Immortals War. Yes. She would buy him.

Outlaw said he would do anything for her if she did.

Steffan smiled when he saw her back. Straight off, she asked, "How much?"

Daine returned to her rooms, with a happy smile. She suddenly remembered Numairs' strange behaviour, and puzzled over this. She called out, "Numair?" but he wasn't in.

She spent another night without him, in the double bed.

She was drifting off, when she thought, But I don't want this time with Numair to end. They had been so perfect together. Why had it stopped?

The next day the King called her and Numair to a meeting. Daine arrived before time, and had a conversation Daine later could not recall with the king and queen before Alanna, George, Myles, Duke Gareth the younger, and Burri arrived. As Numair wasn't there, the squire had to go looking for him. It was five minutes into the secret meeting when Numair came in, looking half asleep.

The king frowned as Numair slid into a seat next to George, not the vacant one beside Daine. She stared at the table as seven pairs of eyes looked from her to Numair. No one said anything for a moment.

The King cleared his throat, and said, "I'll just recap. Our spy in Bailings' Point is safe, but unable to receive much information. He has told us treason is likely, and that a meeting with Green Valley and Eagle' Nest Forest, is going to take place in a month. The meeting is going to take place while hawking, and they plan to take only their favourite dogs and a bird each, so it would be impossible to get someone in as an attendant. As a hawk trainer he is able to introduce new animals, and I need you, Daine, to go in there."

Everyone waited for Numair to object to sending Daine into danger, but he said nothing, looking slightly bored.

Alanna spoke up, instead. "Sire, would that wise?"

Before the king could speak, Numair said, "Bailings' Point, Green Valley and Eagle' Nest Forest are the three largest fifes in the south, we depend on their produce greatly. If there is treason brewing, better to ferret it out now than it growing and encouraging neighbouring fifes."

Everyone apart from Daine stared at Numair. "Yes, that right." The spymaster said. "You, Numair, need to be in Tyra to collect Daine, who, after hearing the meeting through, will escape, and fly to the capital Tyra." Myles unrolled a large map, and placed on it a lens. It was a magical device, which enlarged the southwestern part of the city, and made it real. Myles pointed out a long, low bridge. "There is a bridge, The Swan Gate, which isn't widely used. Collect her there."

Alanna interrupted again, with a glare to Numair, who returned it sedately. "Hang on! Daine never said she would! And that's got to be way over fifty miles! You want her to hunt, listen to a plot, and then fly seventy miles to a city she never even been to before-"

"I'll go." Daine said, eyes on Numair.

But the look in her eyes was empty, like black ice. A danger to herself as much as anyone else. But then it was gone.

A week or so past this way, without either trying to make up as Daine has done. Daines' Icicle stayed, to her discomfort, but grew no bigger, to her relief. Numair disappeared some nights; sometimes he sat by the fire long after Daine had gone to bed. Each day, Daine spent time with Cloud and Outlaw, Cloud soon putting the large horse in his place.

One night, neither of them had said a word to each other, and Daine lay awake, staring at the ceiling, playing listlessly with the blankets. Numair rose from staring at the flames, and went to sit next to Daine.

She looked up at him; hope flaring, only to be put out by her inner ice, then flaring again, a vicious circle of emotion in her head. He looked down at her, his gaze unreadable. It remained so as he lent in to kiss her.

This had been their first kiss in over a week, but it seemed part sad, part detached, and a lot desire. Not like the fire and ice ones they had shared a month ago. He ran his mouth over hers and down her neck, tempting her to join his games, but she had to ask why.

She pushed him up, and searched his eyes, hoping, hoping to find some of Numair she knew. No joy. He was different and new and alien to her as a stranger. The icicle grew a little.

"Not today." She told him.

She turned over as he left the room


	2. Freedom Of Flight

The next day, Daine in the shape of a black and tan marsh harrier, as per orders, to perfect her hunting skills in that form. The only time when she switched shape was at night, to become a wolf to keep warm. Numair was to stay behind a week, then travel to Tyra with Cloud and a pack of Daines clothes to collect her. He did not see her off.  
Daine reached the meadow where the spy said he would be waiting for her three days after her departure from Corus.

Instead of Mowl, the middle-aged spy, she saw a lad of around eighteen. As soon as he saw her emerge from the forest, he began to spin a lure. Daine hovered, curious. When the lure was in full length, whirling faster and faster above the dark haired man, and making a slight moaning sound, he called out, in a calming tone, "Come on, Weiryns' Wings!"

Weiryns' Wings. That was her code name on this mission. She folded her wings and slammed into the dummy bird. As she sat on her prize, waiting for the man, she wondered where Mowl was at.

Quick enough, the man walked calmly into her vision. She stretched half-opened wings protectively over her catch, and hissed, acting her part.

The man stopped, delved in a pouch at his waist, and removed a good bit of flesh as her reward. He held it where she could see it, in his gloved hand, and lowed himself onto his hocks. He sidled closed, murmuring under his breath.

Daine felt a mischievous mood come over her. She tensed herself, lowering her chest and raising her wings, as if about to take to flight again, when the man was but an arms' length away.

The man immediately froze on the spot, barely moving, but still speaking softly. Daine flap-hopped to his fist. There she drooped her wing, and bowed her head, an exhausted run-away.

She also looked thin. During the two weeks Numair had blanked her she had barely eaten. This did well for the image of a hawk that wanted to taste freedom, only to find no one came when it killed.

Before she could change her mind about being there, the man had expertly tied a leather thong and bells on her leg. She hissed indignantly, and attempted half-heartedly to nip the imprisoning fingers. He was to fast for her, which was strange as she was a raptor.

She swayed slightly, and that was not an act. Her two foodless, sleepless weeks pummelled her. She ripped into the raw morsel as the hawk-handler gently examined her.

Thin, warm fingers probed through feathers, to touch gaunt bone. Her bird shape had exaggerated her lean diet. She stood tall once more, and shifted her position on his fist, doing some examining of her captor.

He was handsome, dark hair straight as grass, eyes a gentle brown. His brows peaked slightly, his nose had a snub end, and his jaw line was enviable. His lips were finely made; top half the width of the lower, and his complexion was a honey tan, thanks to the summer sun and maybe some mixed blood.

He wore an expression of worry, his fingers now soothing her breast feathers. She peeped softly, and lightly caught hold on a slim finger in her flesh-ripping beak. He joggled it, up and down, side to side, playing with her.

Suddenly, Daine really didn't feel good. She released the finger, and batted her wings at the sudden forward tilt, thanks to her own traitorous self. She regained her balance, but a price. She was spent, physically and mentally, the bird form burning reserves she didn't have. Her head almost rested on her chest, wingtips touching the glove. Her grip was as tight as she could make it, not wishing to overbalance again.

She realized they were moving, the man moving so smoothly she barely noticed.

When they finally reached the country house of the Lord of Bailings' Point, Daine was tucked under arm. The young man took her to the mews. A mouse brown haired man was hobbling around on crutches, looking almost frantic.

He saw them, and a look of relief flooded his features. That was almost immediately replaced by a look of concern for Daine. He beckoned for the man to follow him into the separated rooms for ailed animals.

"Plonk 'er on the table." The spies' voice had a neutral tone that soothed Daine. When the dark eyed boy put her down, her legs collapsed. Mowl wouldn't have it, however. "Come on, stand up," his voice was firm now, his fingers nudging her to rise.

She did so, as her ma had taught her to do as healers' said – even animal healers. She hadn't folded her wings since her over balance, but now Mowl did this, bending trembling wings onto themselves. He then flicked her beak to hold her head up.

"Ya mustn't let 'em feel sorry for 'emselves – tha's the firs' step t' death for all creatures." It sounded like teaching. Mowl was teaching her captor. But she was sure some of his words were also directed to her. "Poor girl," he muttered, "Val, we need a pigs heart, and cheese, if you could get 'em?"

Val, the dark haired boy, said, " Yes, of course." He left at a trot towards what appeared to be kitchens.

Quietly, Mowl said to Daine, "Ye're a fair good Player, 'Wings. But I think this is further than Playin'. No matter, I'll get your weight up. I couldn' fetch ya, as a 'orse kicked ma knee out. Don't sit down!" he cried, as Daine' legs gave, and she rested all her weight on to her breastbone as a chick would.

When Mowl got her to stand for a second time, he gave her a bowl of warm milk and honey. Daine dipped her beak in, and lapped some.

She was starting to feel stronger when Val returned, with the requested food. His look of relief to see her drinking would have been shocking, had Daine the energy for emotion.

"Don' stand there, gawping, cut it up for 'er." He past the younger man a knife, and said to Daine as she swayed, "An' don' ya think about it! I don' want t' start pulling feathers, but if I 'ave ta, I will!"

Daine stood tall, and hissed at him. Val laughed. "It's like she understands," he said, placing bite size morsels before her.

"Aye, animals are cleverer than what most gives 'em credit for, specially 'em 'uns from up Corus way." Both men looked on as she swallowed a sliver of cheese.

"So, is that where she is from? Corus?"

Mowl chuckled. "Aye. The Kings' own mews. She came with a batch of Gallan imports, an was the last to hatch. The rest of her brood was sen' t' train before she was, but they were deemed poor 'unters, and sold to Ladies what wanted the decoration. She weren't even tested, an' began trainin' as a pet when I found 'er. Had ma niece train 'er, as I had to be 'ere, an 'er a friend of the Wildmage."

Daine didn't want to eat anymore. With the return of her strength, so had her ability to think. She thought, (I'm tired,) eyes half shut.

She heard a tut. "Look a' this. But 'er in the dark room so she can rest 'er lil' self. We'll see how she goes tomorrow, on a lead line."

Val put his glove on once more, and tugged on Daines' bells. She stepped up as he said; "She struck the lure dead on, and held on to it. She seemed fine and beautiful in flight, just when she stopped was she ill."

Mowl sighed and followed as Val opened a small room off to a side, more like a broom closet than anything. "Aye, that can 'appen. They fight on and on till they 'ave nothin' left. Good night, Weiryns' Wings."

Val attached her thongs to a chain attached to the base of a low, padded perch, then settled her on it. She batted, and folded her wings. The door closed, and it was instantly dark. Bird instincts told her to sleep, and she did so, willingly.

She woke with a start when light flooded in, How did dawn sneak up on me, and squinted up at the silhouette in the door way.

"Good morning, Weiryns' Wings." Val stooped, and detached her from the chain. She stepped obligingly onto the young man's fist, without him having to nudge her. He seemed impressed. "My, your good in the mornings, eh?" She chirruped back.

Daine felt better than she had in a long time. She bobbed to show her eagerness. Eagles always made her restless when she wasn't free to fly. He laughed quietly, and started to hum. She listened, and stopped fidgeting. She liked the sound of his voice, at least in this form. She had found it was easier to find different emotions in human voices in animal form than in human form.

>Wing-sister, are you well?> came a distant call from an Osprey in the mews.

(I am well, Wing-sister, though my bones think it is winter.)

>Better eat many Flitters before your bones tell the truth.>

(I will.)

Val had walked past the mews now, and went into the stables. Daine thought he was going to ride a carthorse, as any other hand would, but he went to a fine hunters' stall. He tied her to a hawk post, mounted the already tacked-up gelding, and reclaimed her. She only then realized he must be more than a hand.

She puzzled over this as he rode into a grassy field south of the summerhouse. He dismounted without jostling her much, which was impressive. After taking off the saddle tying his mount to the fence, Val attached a lead to Daines' thongs so she couldn't escape. He swung his left arm forwards, and she took flight. She slowly glided to a single fence post in the centre of the field, and alighted on it, turning round to see the man.

He held up a clenched gloved fist, and she flew back to him. It was a simple exercise, one that continued for half the day. At noon Val stopped, and went back to his patiently waiting horse. He took out of his saddle some soft white bread and cheese, an apple and a hunk of honey roast pork, defiantly not something a commoner would bring out.

He had put Daine on a lower bar of the fence, and tied her lead rope to a metal ring in the wood. It was slack enough for her to move freely, so long as she didn't try to fly. Val was stretched out on the spiky grass, eating as he watched small clouds overhead, humming a tune.

Daine hopped down, and waddled over to sniff his food. She had gotten his attention, and he watched her in the corner of his eye, still humming. She left his food alone, full on scraps of flesh he used to lure her back to him. She tuned her attention to him, now. She shuffled over to him, and started to tug on a button, feeling it in her beak. She got board of that, and hop-flapped onto his shoulder. He closed the eye closest to her so she wouldn't try to peck it for the shine. She wasn't interested in his eyes, though they were an interesting shade of brown, almost honey. She carefully bit his earlobe, not to damage it or to cause him pain, just the pleasure of the new sensations. She soon released him, and, curious, ran her beak trough his hair. It felt soft, and tasted of salt. She did it again.

She realized she was acting like a crow, not a hawk. She also realized she didn't care. Some hawks had the curiosity of their distant cousins, so went with it. She turned to peer into his face. Stretching a wing out for balance, she cuffed him gently with her wing.

"Hey!" he cried. She chirped, and fell of his shoulder, onto the grass on her back. She closed her eyes, playing a trick on him. "'Wings?" She felt his fingers tousle her chest feathers. Her eyes snapped open, grabbed his finger lightly, and clutched his wrist guard. He lifted his arm, and she was still attached, upside down, wings flapping hard.

He laughed as she struggled against gravity, lost, and fell to earth once more. She quickly flipped herself back over, and started to preen herself, pretending nothing happened.

Still chortling, Val stood, and took Daine back to the mews.

There, Mowl would check her over, and gave her fatty foods to build her up.

This routine continued for a week, before Mowl proclaimed she wouldn't fly for freedom again, and could be flown without a lead. Daine was overjoyed at her freedom, and spent several minutes revelling in her element, ignoring his calls, before returning to the handsome man in her own time.

She was shocked to find him almost angry. "Ah, 'Wings, what are we to do with you?" She cocked her head and mewed, and, still seeing the stern fire in his dark eyes, she butted him with her head.

He got the gist, and let her fly once more. She flew to the post and back, to prove she could follow the rules. Another week of this, then Val took her to a new meadow, one where sheep had not bitten the grasses back. Daine could hear and smell rats, rabbits and other rodent life. She bobbed eagerly on Val' fist.

She had closed off her mind to animals other than raptors since this mission began, and her marsh harrier instincts drowned out Daines' regret as she dive-bombed unsuspecting rabbits and grouse. Daines' self was pacified by Val, as he showed off her catches to the other men of his age around the large home.

That day, Mowl announced that she was of normal weight, and could be flown by His Lordship. Val glowered at this, and said, "I'll be taking her back to her mew, then."

But Mowl stopped him, gently placing a hand on the younger mans arm. "'Is Lordship want t' review her, on t' morrow."

Val said nothing, but both she and Mowl saw hate blaze in his eyes. He was so wound up; he had forgotten his glove as he tugged on her thongs. She stepped automatically onto his fist, but didn't hold him hard with her killer claws. Both the men realized the younger' folly at the same instant, and stared down at Daine. She mewed gently to Val, tightening her grip slightly.

"She's a wondrous bird, 'er. " Mowl murmured.

Val shook his head. "I personally think she's a raven, inside. She mucks about like one, has the curiosity and sharpness of one, but she flies like the wind is hers to control. You should see her."

Mowl replied, "Aye, a will."

Then, silently, Val took Daine to her mew. He stroked her hard once, with a whisper, "Sleep well, 'Wings," before he left, whistling, back towards the Summer House.

The next morning, Mowl got her. His movement was better, but he would hobble the rest of his days. This would most likely be the last spy mission he would be on. Daine looked round to try and spot Val.

Mowl, however, wanted a chat. "'Wings, tonight we need a talk where ye can. I've got some clothes ye can wear, but it's important."

She squeezed her assent, and Mowl stopped in the courtyard, with three other handlers and birds. Mounts were brought round, all of them fine stock There they waited, till a richly dressed mouse-brown haired man in his forties came out of the main door, with two men and a woman. The woman had the same colouring as the Lord, and was dressed in a riding dress, tailored to allow her to ride straddle, and in her late twenties. The men also wore fine garb, the oldest a knight by the shield button he wore on his shirt pocket, of mid twenties, also of the same complexion, but a lighter shade of hair. The youngest was Val. They all wore hawk gloves.

The Lady mounted a chestnut gelding that accented her hair and dress, both almost the same shade as the animal. She then claimed the hobby. The men then mounted, Lord on a piebald mare, taking a goshawk, the knight on a dappled grey mare, taking a buzzard, and Val mounted his dappled bay, taking Daine. She mewed to him, and his stony expression softened.

They rode for half an hour, at Daines' guess, till they came to open grassland that rippled like water in the wind. With them, they had brought three attendants and five dogs, to flush out rabbits and birds.

They all dismounted, only Val able to do so without the aid of the attendants to hold their bird. Daine sat coolly on Val' fist, not batting the air and fighting like the Ladys' hobby, or made to counter balance with a wing, as the goshawk did. The knight and Val stared at one another, the knights' buzzard was viewing the land, but she didn't fidget.

The knight mouthed the words, " Sand Scut ", and Val trembled in suppressed rage. Daine half-opened her wing, crouching low, and hissed loudly at the blond knight, protecting him from the foul words like she would of a kill, or of chicks.

Val smirked, and walked away, soothing Daine. When the horses had been secured, and the birds settled, the Lord drew them round himself.

His voice was smooth, but had a bitter after taste to it, not at all like Vals'. He said, "This will be our last hunt together this season. Soon we will retire to the Fife Hall, and our summerhouse will be closed for the winter. So, let us enjoy this while we can."

With that, two attendants holding two dogs each, went crashing through the grass, and before long, a grouse took to flight. The Lord launched the large hawk into the air to smash into the startled bird in mid-air. They both tumbled into the dense sea of weed and long grass. The Lord went to retrieve the bird and the attendant followed to carry the prey.

When they returned, the Lady let her hobby free. It darted low, and quickly disappeared. The attendant had to use the hound to locate it, and to finish off the rabbit.

The knight threw his raptor to the air, and it began to circle. After several minutes it attacked a bird that had just flown towards the distant lake; a heron. The larger bird struggled to remain in the air as the buzzard closed talons over its' neck, pecking fiercely at the slender birds head and neck.

The heron seemed to give up, wings outspread but no longer flapping, the buzzard releasing it just before the grey bird broke itself on the ground, to slow its own decent.

The knight threw a smug look at Val before he went to get his bird and prize. For Val Daine would do almost anything. To beat this upstart would be tricky, but Daine had a trick.

She thought her morality would put up a resistance, but the winter of her emotions had spread, unchecked. Now she felt remorse only because she felt she should, as she cast her wild magic out to scenes to locate a bigger prize.

She found it.

A large, male black grouse. He was drowsy and hadn't noticed the commotion that was the attendants crashing around.

She bobbed impatiently as the knight returned, proud and cocky as his father praised him. Daine pecked Vals' thumb tip, as he was glaring at the knight. Val looked down, but his eyes didn't soften now. He threw her with more force than he had done before, but Daine didn't mind. She climbed higher as she flew further field.

She found the spot where the grouse should be, and circled, waiting for it to move. It did, because it had seen her, and panicked. He ran towards the hunting party, quick on his feet, as he was heavy in the air. Daine wasted no time, and started her dive. She was ten feet above the ground when he decided to take off. She put her feet before her, altered her course minutely, and slammed into him just as he rose above the grasses.

He was dead before they hit the ground; she knew because her feed stung slightly. She felt slightly dizzy from the fast decent, but that would soon leave her.

The attendants' dog found her first, and threatened to steel her prey. She hissed viciously, and it backed away, barking. Then Val was there, and she launched herself at him, and perched on his shoulder, where she peered into his face, to see his reaction to her catch. It was almost as large as a turkey, but more handsome. The attendant whistled when he saw it.

"That's a fine one, Lord Valpon! And the catch is none to shabby, neither!" Val had a triumphal look to him, and great pleasure at Daines' success.

Before returning, however, Val checked Daine over, making sure her bones had not broken at the slam. Assured she was none the worse, Val helped to carry the grouse back, Daine still on his shoulder.

The knight look was acid, the lady resonated pride, and the lord beamed. "That's the new stock, is it?"

Val grinned, and said, "Yes, Father. Her name's Weiryns' Wings."

"Well, let's see it, then!" exclaimed the Lord – Vals' father.

Daine noticed the goshawk in the attendants hand, and shifted her weight nervously as the Lord of Bailings' Point reached for her.

He tugged harder than necessary on her bells, but she ignored it, and stepped daintily onto his offered fist. He proceeded to poke at her, and the knight came closer to also examine her. He poked her hard enough to bruise, and she batted in protest.

"No use to being handled, unfortunately," he said. Daine determinedly stood still for the rest of the mens' inspection.

Vals' father asked, "How old is she?"

"Two, Father," was Vals' reply.

The knight said, "It should be put to breeding, then. It has at least ten eggs till it stiffens up."

Val made an outraged notice, but the Lord seemed to contemplate this. "Yes," he said, eventually. "Next year, she'll be put to breed."

Val said desperately, "She is only two years! Next brooding season will come in six months! Let Mowl advise your decision, Father, he will know when is best to have her lay."

The lord, however, ignored his son, and joggled Daine, testing her weight. She hated it, and hissed ferociously at the mistreatment. When this failed to make him stop, she flapped so strongly the lord was taken by surprise and she slipped from his grasp. She flew into the blue sky, watching them drop away as she rose almost vertically.

She heard Val call to her, but she sped away from it all, back to Mowl. She arrived twelve minuets later, and spotted him. She dove down, and he jumped. "Gods, girl! What – why – ugh!" He threw his hands up in exasperation. He sighed, and held out an arm. "Come on then."

They went back into the infirmary, and he put her into the dark room along with a set of clothes, and closed the door. She struggled to remember her human self, but remembered her mother, Cloud, her new-found father, Alanna. Her bones ached as she changed back into her human self, and dressed stiffly. The clothes fit her well, and she stepped out, into the light of day once more.

She found Mowl holding a marsh harrier exactly as she looked like her. "Oh!" Daine held out her arm for the bird, and said to her, Wing-sister! You have the beauty of Kill., naming the first female bird of prey.

The harrier preened herself as she replied, You, sister, have the beauty of Wind Underwings. She named the first female harrier.

Daine smiled at the compliment, and looked up at Mowl. He was viewing her carefully. "Can you get her to act just as you have these past weeks? Only when Val comes a lookin'-"

Daine smiled. "O' course." She slipped back into her slang to pass as Mowl' niece.

Concentrating, Daine opened up her magic, and asked the marsh harrier if she could play along. The bird of prey agreed, bobbing her head.

Daine and Mowl settled into a debate of how to keep eggs – with their mother or not – for appearance sake and to exercise Daines voice.

Before too long the sound of a cantering horse was heard, and Val shouting for Mowl. "'e always gets like this," Mowl said, getting to his feet and hobbling towards the door to the courtyard. "Whenever 'e dresses 'is station, 'e acts it –"

He had barely opened the outer door when Val burst in, saying "'Wings has taken off ag-" His eyes fixed on Daine, who had the harrier perched on her shoulder, drowsing. His brows snapped into a frown. "Who is this, Mowl?"

"My niece, from Corus. That un that trained yon harrier."

Daine had stood, and curtsied so smoothly that the bird hadn't stirred. "Milord," Daine said, keeping her eyes down.

"Sarra, take 'Wings back to her mew, would ya?"

Daine nodded. Sarra was her code name in human form. Ungloved, she tugged at the harriers talon to get her to step up onto her hand. Val made a movement and half strangled protest at the powerful bird clutched Daine' pale, delicate looking hand. She shot an amused glance at him as she walked past.

She put the harrier into the mew, bidding the bird a good rest, before returning to the men.

She hovered nervously in the doorway, before Mowl growled at her to sit down. She did so, and waited as they had a brief conversation on the good catch 'Wings had brought it. Daine wore a smug smile, glancing at Val now and then, catching him throwing her glances too.

Eventually Val turned to Daine. "You trained her, then?"

"Aye, Milord. She 'as a smart catch, don't she?"

"Yes, one to be proud about. Do you have any others in training?"

"Three red kites. There's a big colony nestin' on the Palace, and I found 'em as nestling before the foxes could."

"I'm sure they'll do you justice. Please, forgive me – I must return to the Hall. Will you be staying long?"

Sadly, Daine shook her head. "I came down when I got word of my uncles condition, but he already mended, and I have responsibilities in the capital."

Val nodded, smiled sadly, and left with a bow.

Daine slumped with a groan. Wearily, Daine asked, "You wanted to talk, Mowl?"

"That I do." The man stiffly got up, and poured some wine, which he placed before her before getting himself some. Daine downed half in one long gulp. She moaned in pleasure at the warmth flowing down her gullet. She should remember never to stay in one shape for too long – she ached all over. "Now, Missy, what are your orders?"

It was awhile before the words made any sense. "Oh. To follow the next hunting party – no, sorry. To be in the next hunting party the Lords of the three fifes are having, and to listen. See if they plot against the Crown." She drank some more of the sweet wine.

Mowl topped up her mug. "And how is the alliance to Carthak going? I don't get much news."

Daine rubbed her face, before replying, "Thayet ain't to pleased at the whole 'arranged marriage' idea, but Kally's up for it. The King persuaded her it was her duty."

"Yes, but what about the negotiations?" His voice was smooth and silky, but she still had trouble concentrating on it.

"Ask a damned clerk," she said, annoyed at herself for not remembering.

"Yes, but I am asking you, Veralidaine. Tell me." Now his voice was hard.

Daine shook her head. "Don't call me that."

Mowl stood swiftly, grabbed her lapels and hoisted her to her feet. Then he slammed her into the wall, causing the air to rush from her body. Dazed and confused, her head feeling stuffed full of wool, Daine looked at him, trying to get her wind back. "One more time, Veralidaine. What are the main negotiations of this treaty?"

Frightened, Daine said, "Kaddar's going to hand over some pirate Lord to Tortall, and they in turn will support the Eastern Fleet against Wolf ship attacks while the Ports re-build from typhoon damage." Daine swallowed, her throat dry and burning, a strange taste the wine left.

"Any more?" hissed the spy, digging his thumb into the bed of her thumb nail. She gasped and twisted, looking at him in horror.

"Tortall has agreed to buy twenty percent more silk from Carthak, and they've agreed to lower the prices of their gems and jewels by a fifth."

Instead of alleviating the pressure, he increased it, and she sobbed. "The Copper Isles. What about them?"

"What about them?"

He shifted his hold, turning her so he held her hands behind her back, slowly bringing them higher. "They are the only other supplier of silks – will Tortall stop buying from them? Does the King plan to marry his eldest son to a princess from their royalty? Is there any secret fleet targeted to its ports? Any thing, Veralidaine. Just tell me."

When she was silent for too long Mowl changed his grip, and pulled. Daine fell to the floor, winded again. Mowl grabbed his crutches, and held them against her left arm, and pushed. Daine tried to scream in pain, but only a thin wail came out. He put more pressure on her bones till she shut up, gasping and sobbing. He looked down on her expectantly, so she shook her head. "No, they'll just get more silks from Carthak, and, no; he's trying to get a Yamini alliance. And no, there is no secret fleet any where."

"I think," Mowl said, slowly, "your lying." Daine wined in pain as he put an enormous strain on her wrist, and she bucked her body it blazed in white pain – he had broken it.

The pain cleared Daines mind enough for her to remember … what it was like to feel the wind under her wings, the scent of her prey, the buzz of adrenalin. Daine shifted into a Marsh Harrier, and her feathers slipped from Mowls grasp. He cried out in rage as she flipped onto her feet, and took off, just as he threw himself onto her. He missed, and she smashed out of the shuttered window, out and away, her mind buzzing.

She flew higher and higher, but being in this shape was more confusing than her human form. The pain in her wing was amazing, and she didn't know which direction she was flying in.

The sun was just setting, so that should be … to her left. If she wanted to go North. Daine circled painfully, and started to fly Northward.

A thought slowly surfaced. (Tyra is closer … and Numair is in Tyra. Tyra is directly East, half a days flight. And the 'Meeting' would have been tomorrow … so he should be there now.) Again, Daine shifted her direction, so the red sun was behind her, and folded her injured wing in half. (That's better.)

She began her slow, lopsided journey to a place she had never been, packed full of drugs and hurt, flying gradually making that hurt worse and worse.


	3. In The Kraken's Clutches

Pain ate Daine' world. Each downward flap, each unexpected buffet of air caused her to cry out for the pain in her trembling left wing. Spasms wracking her body every few moments.

She had lost all sense of time. There was only the darkness that surrounded her, pinpricked with silver and yellow, and the pain. That was all there was, had ever been, would ever be. That, and Numair.

To remember this, Daine repeated his name in her mind each time she pushed the air down under her wings. A glow on the horizon. Almost like the moonrise, but more golden, but not the sun. That was where she was going. To Numair.

She started to shiver. It was so cold., And she was so tired. The driving needles of water logged her feathers, but she had to keep going. Bad things would happen if she stopped. Bad things had happened, and she was flying away from them. She was still being chased, but there – where Numair was, she would be safe.

Daine fixed her gaze on the glow on the horizon, and straighten her course as the glow had gone over the right. She could see it more clearly now as many small lights, not a singular mass. It was like a part of the sky had fallen down and was lying on ground, broken and dying.

Muscles trembling, Daine glided down, allowing herself to fall. Shakily she caught herself, swooping from the dive, to fly above the roofs and streets as she searched for …

A bridge. That was where Numair was. A bridge was a road across water. But there were many of them. Which was the right one? Something to do with … swans? And a swan was … was …

She could not hold the picture in her mind. But she knew a bridge. It was small, too thin for a cart, and it was … it in the western stretch of the estuary. West was … to the left, her back to the sea.

The oil-lamps burned in the richer parts of the city she was flying over, but these grew sparse as she glided west, till the only light came from the occasional rowdy pub and the pale moon. She slowly became aware she was cold, so cold her blood seemed to be ice, her joints felt solid and it was agony to move. Suddenly the whole world tilted, and the pain flared to intolerable levels, before dragging her into darkness.

Slowly, she came back to herself. Exhaustion lay heavy on her, like a wet blanket, slowly smothering her. Dim light burned her eyes. Her muscles ached from exertion, and her wing felt numb. She was grateful to be on the ground and not flying anymore, or hurting. The cold cobbles seemed to cradle her body, locking her in place. She never noticed a rhythmic sound, coming steadily closer …

Strong hands wrapped around the light body of the Demi-goddess, lifting her none-too-gently, and stumping back the way he had come.

Daine was flooded by his scent, the salty tang of sweat, the sweet stench of horse manure, and a hint of poppies in the sun. It made her feel intolerably ill, and she slipped into a place between awareness and unconsciousness.

The man who carried her breathed heavily and shuffled more than walked, struggling on the smooth cobbles with a wooden peg leg. He had been paid to check the side streets and bridges for either a tall, dark mage who he was not to approach, a young brunette girl with heavy fatigue and wounds, also not to be approached, just to be reported on, or, lastly, a bird of prey that would be exhausted and injured that was to be caught if possible and brought back to the warehouse. He had seen neither the mage nor the girl, but the bird had the highest reward attached to it. He would be paid well for it – so long as it was alive when he gave it to them. That seemed to be the only condition.

He looked down at the scraggily mass of damp, split feathers. It bobbed its head back and forth, like the crazy dancing bear he had seen in Scanra. What was so important about an insane bird? He dismissed the question, concentrating on the wet slippery stones, the drizzle tripling their danger. Slowly but surly he navigated the side alleys of Tyra, into the warehouse district, warmed by the thought of the poppy brick he could buy. He hadn't had any in a long while…

No lamp lit the doorway, but he wasn't perturbed. Shady business was best dealt with in the shadows, but what could this bird be to the Kraken? Sure he was new to these parts, but he was well practiced in his art. The man raised a grimy hand and knocked the two-pause-one code on the damp wood.

It opened a crack, and a voice from within called "Who goes?"

"Jerric th' Leg. Ah 'ave summit fuh ya."

The door hurriedly opened half way, and the doorkeeper poked his head out, and checked the ally, before nodding to Jerric to enter. He limped in, pleased to be out of the sodden night. The doorway was at one end of a narrow corridor, which was also unlit, and had a single stool for the doorkeeper to sit on. Further down the passageway was a second door, but this one had light gleaming about the edges.

The outer door shut with a small, quick click and snap of locks. Jerric glared at the 'keeper, who glared right back, but his gaze dropped to Jerrics' prize. He snorted lightly through his nose before gesturing to the light-lined door, saying "Kraken's waiting." He slouched into his seat once more, watching the old man hobble his way towards his fate. A cruel smirk hitched his lips at how stupid the addicts were.

Jerric reached the door and fumbled for the handle, shoving it open. It swung wide, spilling golden candlelight out into the dark passageway, and Jerric squinted. The bird gave its first protest, struggling feebly, before burying its head in his shirt.

A man dressed in comparative finery to Jerrics drab, stained and ragged clothes. A thick red shirt showed in contrast under the soft, silk, black-on-black embroidered waistcoat, black riding trousers and soft leather boots. A wide brimmed hat and dark cloak were dripping dry close to the fire.

Dark eyes evaluated Jerric, thin lips twisting into a grimace of disgust, until he saw the bird. Both brows lifted, his mouth straightened as his expression changed from distaste to pleasant surprise. "What do we have here?" His voice was a low murmur, as if talking to himself.

Jerric took a step inside the door. "Ah found 't like this in th' gutta." He held up the deep brown bird for the Kraken to inspect. It gave a low scream as its limp wing was joggled.

The man swept forwards, and he drawled, "Gently, now. I don't want her more damaged." He tried to take her from the uncaring hands of the poppy addict, but he snatched her out of reach, wrenching another pain filled complaint from her beak.

"Not till ah get me dues."

The Kraken glared at the waste of life before him before taking a heavy purse from his belt. He put it on a small round table then held out his hands for the bird. Hastily Jarric dumped the sodden Marsh Harrier in the Krakens calloused hands so he could get at the gold. He counted it slowly as the thief lord examined the bird. Jarric heard the hissed curse and decided to get out. He was not about to relinquish his prize if the bird was the wrong one. He was shuffling to the door when a sudden thump on his back made him fall flat on his face, his breath a gurgling wheeze. He writhed, all his energy escaping him, the pain dragging him down into eternal dark. With one last shudder, he died.

The Kraken walked over to the body, staring down at it with an eyebrow hitched as he waited to see if Jarric was truly dead. When the downed man didn't move he knelt, avoiding the dark pool of blood, he took the purse from the dead mans grasp and jerked the throwing knife from his back, wiping it clean on rain sodden clothes.

He stood, looking into the darkness where the doorkeeper was watching. "Get rid of this." He nudged the foot from the doorway and closed out the darkness of the corridor. He turned back to the armchair, where he had placed the Wild Mage. She was gazing at him with one copper eye. He spread his hands wide in mock-helplessness, saying "Well, you truly didn't expect me to let him live, did you, my dear? After the way he treated you I was merciful." He went and knelt before her, his tone softening. "I'm also going to have that fool Mowl killed, but in a more elaborate way. I told him not to break bones. I confess, I ordered him to rip your tendons, but could he do that? No. How much of that damned brew did he use? That's another thing. We didn't know the quantity to give you to knock you out, but I was under orders not to kill you. It seams your immune to it though." He looked closed at her. "Or maybe not." His fingers stroked the rumpled feathers, feeling the heat that poured from her. He had handled birds of prey before and knew this amount of heat was not a good thing. "You have a fever. Won't you change for me? Become that young woman my Lord so wishes to meet? I'll have a healer come and fix you up. I –"

The door creaked open.

The Kraken spun and stood in one move, a pair of daggers in his hands before he recognised the intruder. "Your Highness!"

"Good evening, Kraken. I didn't realize you were entertaining … some bird." His tone was openly mocking, deep with the strain not to laugh.

The Kraken glared at the Rogue of Tyra. He lounged on the doorframe, in the mute colours or cream and doe brown of a lesser merchant, comfortable in his pseudo. The two items that didn't fit with the disguise were the pair of expensive, black leather gloves and a rich, purple sash around his waist. A carefully trimmed beard and small moustache accented his lips, blue eyes deep and quick in the candlelight.

"Now, I can either think you are touched in the head, that you have some warped taste in romance … or you think that poor, bedraggled creature there it the Wild Mage of Tortall. I can't think the first, as you have proved you had a keen, quick mind and totally reasonable and coherent. I can't think the second as Bess brags about you skill loud enough for the deaf beggar in the next street to hear. So I am left with the third thought, even though it escapes me why she would ever choose to be here, now."

Kraken glared at the Rogue throughout this. In a cold tone he bit out, "We are acquaintances and have shared correspondence. She came to me for help. I am doing my best to aid her."

The Rogue smiled. "Tut tut. Didn't your mother ever tell you not to lie to those with the Sight? Oh – wait, I didn't tell you that, did I?" The Kraken blanched. "It seems no one else did, either. Good." His tone changed in a blink to one of boredom. "I loose my patience with you. Not only do you fail to pay your due, you kidnap a friend of a friend, and I can't have that. It would … undermine me."

The Kraken lunged forward at the Rouge, a second dagger in his free hand. Daggers were suddenly in the Rogues hands and the two came together in a deadly dance of flashing blades and graceful moves. Parries, thrusts, traps and counter-traps. Lunges and side steps, ducks and dodges. The sound of metal on metal wove with the soft whisperings their feet made on the floor and their breathing.

Soon they were both coated in a sheen of sweat, breaths coming harder, clothes sliced and tattered from deflected blows and stained with blood from light flesh wounds.

It looked like they were well matched, and could continue so indifferently, deflecting each blow the other dealt till one of them died the death of a thousand shallow cuts, when the Rogue dodged, the Kraken stumbled, and the sound of meat being sliced ending in the thud of a hilt on a padded surface – namely the Krakens chest – halted all other sounds. Blood darkened the rich fabric, and dribbled out of his lips as he gurgled and spluttered, sliding down to the floor as the Rogue caught his breath.

A death rattle marked the Krakens last breath, and with it, the Rogue swore. "Damn! I didn't question him … like the slime would talk." His eyes fell on the harrier. It was resting its weight on its breastbone, one wing stretched out and quivering. Her eyes were unfocused and she panted.

The Rogue lowered himself to his knees before her, working one of his gloves from his hands. He brushed fingertips over the wing, finding the broken bone had worked its way out of place and was close to piercing the thin skin of the wing. He hissed in sympathy. "Poor girl. Hold on, I just need to find what I can from this corpse."

He searched the still warm body, reclaiming his dagger as he did so, but he found nothing. He moved on to search the room, but it too yielded nothing.

He sighed in frustration, but didn't hesitate. He unbound the sash to form a sling and knotted the two ends before sliding his left arm and head through to rest the sling knot on his right shoulder. He pulled his glove on once more and scooped up the dazed bird. She made a mewling chirp as he nestled her into the cup of his sling, and he murmured to her soothingly.

He made sure her broken left wing poked out to be supported by his arm before taking the dead mans cape and hat. With a last glance, he left.

The storm that had been playing on and off all night had swept in once more, sheets of cold sea rain onto the unfortunates below.

The Rogue hurried away from the warehouse, his steps level and smooth so not to joggle his charge. Not long after leaving the conspirators lair he came to his own, a little known inn by the sign of the 'Singing Selkie'. He entered his domain, thankful to be out of the cold, wet darkness. A loud, ruckus cheer greeted him when he tossed off his stolen hat. He gave his Court a fond smile, crooked his finger at a young pick pocket and ordered thee mugs of ale before walking a wet trail through the room, up the two flights of stairs to his rooms.

He flung off the cape, gently eased out of the sling and handed it to the girl before entering his rooms and checking them thoroughly. Finding nothing amiss he called in the scruffy redhead. She set her tray of ale mugs on the oak table, taking great care not to disturb the harrier.

He took the purple sling from her and sat, bringing the drooping hunter from her confines. "I want you to run to the Bards Rest. There will be a man staying there by the name of Geo Homewood. Give him this message. 'The hunter who is hunted has been caught but the flesh is found wanting,' then bring him. Can you remember that?"

"Yessir," she said with a slight lisp. "'The hunter who is hunted has been caught but the flesh is found wanting.' To be delivered to Geo Homewood at the Bards Rest."

"Go, then. Take the cape, if you wish."

"Taa, Highness!" She grabbed the cape and ran down the stairs and into the night.

"Now," the Rogue turned to his feathered companion. "Lets get you sorted." He went to a chest and pulled out a few thin pieces of wood and a length of bandage. He returned to the seating area and put the supplies on the table. Then he undid the knot of his discarded sash and picked up Daine carefully, and rapped her up in its length, binding it so her legs with their deadly talons and her un-injured wing were unable to move. He then put her back onto his lap, and stroked her head, concerned at her docile behaviour. He heaved a sigh before re-aligning the broken bone, to which the bird jerked once, then he gently splinted the Wildmages broken bone.

Though he was careful she hissed, suddenly awake as soon as he touched the snapped bone. Her head darted faster than sight at his fingers but she couldn't reach, and he quickly finished to the sound of her hissing fury.

He was attempting to calm her back to sleep when there was a sound out in the hallway. Quickly, the Rogue stood and put the grumpy bird in the warm hollow of the chair, flicking out a dagger. He silently moved to a shadowy corner where he could dispatch the intruder if they opened the door and presented a threat.

There was a soft knock, a hesitation, and then the door opened.

In the doorway was a cloaked and hooded figure, not standing square in the frame, but against the wall. There was a moment of tension, then the figure stepped forwards, pulling off the soaking cloak. Beneath it was an older man, hazel eyes fixed on the corner the Rogue had hidden himself in. "Tarragon Thatcher!"

The Rouge chuckled then stepped into the light. "Sorry, but it's a nasty habit." They embraced, and Tarragon said, "It's been a long time, George."


End file.
